


Guilt Running Rampant

by StarsandJellyfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Gen, Guilty Sam Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Episode: s04e22 Lucifer Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsandJellyfish/pseuds/StarsandJellyfish
Summary: After Sam released Lucifer from the Cage, he's feeling incredibly guilty about it. All he wants is for Dean to understand how sorry he is, but is Dean willing to listen?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Guilt Running Rampant

Guilt

Sam let out the breath he’d been holding as the plane touched down. Slowly, he let his fingers unclench from the armrests, knowing he’d left indents in the leather of them but unable to find it within himself to care. His fists clenched back up again, nails against his own palms. The sharp sting of crescents bitten into his own flesh helped relieve his nerves, though only a little.

He’d let Lucifer out.

Dean was right, he was a monster. He needed to be put down, he knew that, but despite knowing it intellectually, he couldn’t get the fear to go away. Worse, though, was the guilt. _He’d_ let lucifer out of the box. That had been _him_. _His_ arrogance, _his_ surety, _his_ ignorance. It was inexcusable. Nevertheless, he was still going to try. He wondered if he could make Dean understand how sorry he was. He wondered if that would persuade his brother not to kill him. Even with everything that had happened, even with the guilt, he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to put that burden on Dean.

“Dean,” he murmured, as the plane finally stopped taxying down the runway and they were allowed off.

“Shut it, Sam,” Sam remembered a time when his brother had been terrified of flying on an airplane. The harsh tone of his voice let Sam know that, this time, Dean had been far too furious to care that he was on a plane, that death could come from them at any moment, that they could fall out of the sky in a big metal tube and not live to see another day. Now, all Dean cared about was Sam’s mistakes. Sam didn’t blame him. They were humongous, inexcusable mistakes.

“Dean,” he hated the whine in his voice, but he needed to talk to Dean, needed his brother to understand that he was sorry, that he’d never be more sorry. “Please.”

Dean ignored him, instead storming off towards the car park, silently fuming. Sam hated his brother like this, hated the way he was as liable to hurt himself as he was to hurt Sam. If he hurt Sam, Sam didn’t think that mattered. He deserved it. God, did he deserve it. But Dean? Dean who had tried to stop him, Dean who had gone to hell for him, Dean who had tried and tried to save him, no matter how often Sam brushed him off… Dean didn’t deserve to be hurt, especially not by himself. Sam zipped his lips, hoping his brother would cool off.

He didn’t, and by the time they’d searched the whole car-park, Dean was fuming once more. “I can’t believe it,” he was crying, running rough hands through his hair. “I can’t _fucking_ believe it.”

Whatever had transported them out of the convent hadn’t bothered to take the Impala with it. Sam was sort of glad, because that meant they hadn’t brought out that shitty yellow junk pile that he’d used to keep that poor, screaming nurse in. The one who had begged for her life, before he’d drained her. He felt sick.

“Dean,” he called again, this time with enough urgency to capture his brother’s attention before he threw up on the concrete. Ribs heaving, stomach wrenching, Sam fell to his knees as he brought up all the demon blood left in his system. There was a lot, and the concrete was coloured red and beige by the time he’d done, covered in blood and bile. The sight of it almost made Sam hurl again, but he kept the contents of his stomach enough to turn around away from it. He didn’t have the strength to meet his brother’s eyes.

“Well, that’s what you fucking get for sucking down bitch blood like it’s going out of _goddamn fashion_ ,” Dean hissed, before turning back away. Sam tried not to let that hurt him, but he couldn’t help his flinch. There had been a time, once, when Dean would have done anything to see Sam better after he’d brought up everything he’d eaten that day, but no more. Sam knew it was his fault. He knew he deserved it.

“We’re going to have to go back,” ground out his brother, drawing Sam’s attention back to him. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, giving himself all the comfort a hug from himself gave him. It wasn’t very much, but then he didn’t suppose he deserved much.

“Go back?” He asked, forgetting for a moment that the Impala wasn’t in the car park. Then, it hit him again, and he swayed on his feet. He couldn’t go back.

“Dean,” he tried. He couldn’t go back, he just couldn’t. He didn’t want to visit the site of his biggest failure, his biggest fuck-up. He couldn’t do it. Not now, and probably not ever. Guilt already ate him away. Going back wouldn’t help anything.

“Cas,” Dean spoke over him again, pointedly ignoring him now. Sam didn’t have anything that he wanted to hear, and Sam supposed that was okay. Everything was his fault, after all. Dean continued shouting to their absent angel friend. Well, Sam supposed, Castiel was more Dean’s friend. In fact, Sam was fairly certain that Castiel didn’t like him at all. After the angels tried to stop the seals from opening and the Apocalypse from happening, Sam wasn’t that surprised. “Cas, you get your feathered ass down here now!”

Despite everything, Sam still found the way Dean spoke to the angel disrespectful. Even if everything he’d believed about angels was wrong, he found it hard to disregard what he thought they should be. Surely there were some out there who helped, some who offered forgiveness unconditionally, just so long as you asked. Sam hoped he could meet one, one day. Then again, it probably wouldn’t help any, if he couldn’t forgive himself. Besides, an angel wasn’t going to forgive him. Not when he’d just bought himself a one way ticket to Hell. Tears pricked at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible in the wind of the car park. It was almost as if the darkness had sucked his voice away from him. He swallowed, biting his lip to clear his eyes before trying again. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

Dean ignored him, or maybe he hadn’t heard. He was already storming off across the car park, finding the way out. That was his brother, Sam thought, always with a plan of action, always knowing what to do. He’d tried to be that way, to take after his brother, but it had led to his arrogance, his hubris, and now he’d doomed the world.

“Dean, did you hear me?” he called again, striding to catch up. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry_?!” Dean growled, coming up short. Sam almost ran into his back. “You’re _sorry_?! Oh, well that’s okay then! Sam Winchester doomed the world, but he said sorry, so it’s all good now, right?”

Without further ado, Dean strode forward once more. Sam could see the hard set of his shoulders, the way his hands were balled into fists, and he knew that his apologies wouldn’t be welcome again. Not right now, anyway. In fact, he wasn’t even certain if Dean would tolerate his voice right now. None the less, Sam had to try.

“How far out from the convent are we?” he hedged, hoping Dean would answer.

He did, but only grudgingly. “Enough.”

Honestly, Sam wasn’t sure if that was his answer on an instruction, but he fell quiet. Dean wasn’t in the talking mood. Neither was he, but he was in the apologising mood, even if no apology he made would ever be big enough. They were talking about starting the Apocalypse here. It was a little bit bigger than breaking someone’s favourite mug. Hell, it was monumentally bigger even than killing someone. Who knew how many people would die now, and all because of Sam? All because he, in his self-absorbed determination, had thought he was saving the world.

He swallowed, and his throat clicked.

“I know I messed up,” he croaked, trying to keep his voice low and placating. It wouldn’t do to rile Dean up further. “I know, and I am sorry, Dean. God, I can’t express how sorry I am, but I’ll fix it. I will.”

The shorter man laughed at that, but it wasn’t out of amusement.

“Let’s face it, Sam,” he bit out, swinging around to face him again. Sam backed up, still unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “You ‘fixing’ things broke the world. I don’t think it can take you trying to fix this, either. First the world, next the universe or something like that, you know?”

Another wave of guilt rose up and Sam dipped his chin. Training his eyes on a crack in the pavement, he asked, “Then what are we going to do?”

“I’m going to stop the Apocalypse,” Dean huffed, folding his arms and frowning at Sam. “You can damn well help, seeing as you made this mess. And when we die – because we will die, Sam – you are going to stay as far away from me as possible when we get wherever we’re going, because if you don’t… I don’t know, Sam. I just don’t know.”

Sam nodded at this, accepting it. Dean had every right to be angry, every right to hate Sam with every fibre of his being. Sam wasn’t going to begrudge him that. Still, he couldn’t help the ‘I’m sorry’ that slipped past his lips. It was without his volition, but he didn’t think Dean would appreciate him apologising for his apology, not with the way he shook his head in a disgusted manner, lips curled up in a sneer.

He turned away again, once more heading out of the car park. As they left, Sam heard him mutter, “I goddamn went to Hell for _this_?”

It was a question, but it wasn’t directed at Sam. Dean hadn’t said it to him, and Sam was thankful for that, but he’d known that Sam would hear it. He’d done it to hurt Sam, but Sam figured he had the right. God, but did he know that he didn’t have the right, probably never would have the right, to be hurt by the comments made about him. They were all true. He _had_ started the Apocalypse, he _had_ let Lucifer out, and now he had to fix it, or die trying. It would be his penance, though no penance could ever really be enough.

With that in mind, Sam hugged himself tighter and followed his brother out of the car park and into the city, hoping they could stop anything awful from happening before it was too late, but knowing that, deep, deep down, it was already far, far too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Thank you for reading this piece, and I hope you enjoyed it. I feel like I should clarify that while Dean comes off as angry and pretty mean in this piece, I feel like he's under a lot of stress at the time. What's more, I do, in fact, adore Sam to pieces, even if this fic might suggest otherwise, both from all the blame put on Sam, and Dean's comments. It's written from Sam's point of view, and I feel like he'd be feeling incredibly guilty after releasing Lucifer, especially as that wasn't his end-goal. Again, I hope you enjoyed reading it and that I did the boys justice for you all. Thank you! :)


End file.
